


Fear is Where We Are

by silentid



Series: Psychotic Trio [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7001638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentid/pseuds/silentid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanford and Fiddleford take their research to a conference and Ford's possessive streak comes out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear is Where We Are

Fiddleford made his way through the crowded conference hall, marveling at the numerous displays and people. He didn't get out of the Shack very often so the number of people milling about was slightly overwhelming. Most people were either setting up displays, preparing booths, or catching up with old friends. The sheer pandemonium of it when they first arrived had unsettled Fiddleford so much Ford had finally sent him to their hotel room to grab some spare parts and take a moment to calm down. 

Now he was back, parts in hand and winding his way through the hall. It helped that it was closer to dinner time and many people had headed off to get food with colleagues and friends. Fiddleford hoped he would get over his skittishness soon, the conference they were attending hadn't even started and it wouldn't do if he panicked in a packed presentation hall. He was also nervous about being recognized. This was the first time he had gone to an event where people from his former life might also be at. 

But Ford had insisted that presenting at this conference could get them the support and funding they needed to take his new project to the next level. They had a small prototype that was set to push scientific and engineering understanding light years ahead. The idea had seemed to pop into Ford's head overnight. Ford had claimed he had a muse and Fiddleford had been so excited about the technical challenge the device presented he hadn't even thought to question it further. Ford insisted that this was only the beginning and if they could get the money they could change the world with where the full version of this device could take them.

Fiddleford shook his head fondly as he got to their booth. Tools where strewn about haphazardly and Ford was nowhere to be seen. His boss had probably discovered something else that was missing and set off to get it himself. He set about straightening up the area and adding the parts he had brought to the bin under the table. He also put up Stan's addition to the endeavor. A clever sign and slogan advertising the new machine. Even though Stan had been unable to go with Ford to the conference he insisted on making and sending the sign. He swore that a good pitch was as important as the science behind the device. 

As Fiddleford worked he scratched absentmindedly at his beard. He had never considered growing one himself but Stan insisted it would complete his disguise, so that had been that. Fiddleford had to admit that between the dyed hair and the beard he really did look like a new man. It also didn't hurt that Stan was very appreciative of his facial hair. A fake ID, procured by Stan from his extralegal buddies, had completed his transformation into Ernie Hadron, Ford's mild mannered research assistant. Now as long as no one who remembered Fiddleford McGucket was at the conference things would go off without a hitch.

"Fiddleford McGucket! Is that you?" a female voice called out from somewhere behind him. 

Well so much for that plan, Fiddleford studiously ignored the voice continuing his work on the booth. Stan had worked closely with him to help him get used to going by his new name and not responding to his old one.

Finally, the woman was right behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face her, wearing a perplexed look.

"Fiddleford, how have you bee..." The women trailed off as she took in Fiddleford's puzzled expression.

"I'm awfully sorry, miss, but I think you may have me confused with someone else," Fiddleford said demurely. The women looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her beyond someone he may have had classes with in college. Hopefully she wouldn't push the issue.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry. You just reminded me of someone I went to school with," she replied, embarrassment obvious on her face. 

"Not a problem, it happens more often than you would think," Fiddleford responded with an easy chuckle. "Though I am glad I’m not whoever you thought I was. Did you say the guy’s name was Fiddleford? Never heard that one before."

The woman laughed with him. "Yeah, Fiddleford McGucket. Poor guy lost on both fronts. Real nice fellow though, we went to college together. This is just the kind of event I would expect to see him at."

Fiddleford smiled at the compliment. He was enjoying talking with the woman and the longer they did so the more he was remembering about her. They had had a number of classes and done a few projects together. He was pretty sure her name was Anne or something like that. 

"Well I should probably get going, someone looks like they really need to speak with you. It was nice talking, maybe we'll see each other around this weekend," she said, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder as she beat a hasty retreat. 

Fiddleford didn't need to look to see who had spooked her. A heavy six fingered hand landing on his shoulder confirmed his suspicions soon enough. 

"Who was that?" Ford growled in his ear. "What did they want?"

"Somebody I went to college with, she thought she recognized me," Fiddleford answered, not even looking up from the pieces he was putting together. 

Ford spun Fiddleford around, searching his expression for something.

"What did you tell her? Did she ask about the machine?" 

"I just told her what Stan and I rehearsed. That I wasn't who she thought I was," Fiddleford answered sincerely. He gave Ford a gentle pat. "You're starting to sound a bit paranoid, maybe we should take a break and get some dinner."

"I can't, I have to make sure everything is perfect for tomorrow. It can’t turn out like the..."

"Science fair," Fiddleford finished in sync with Ford. He sighed wearily. 

Stan had been worried about this. Ford had been to conferences before and even presented his work but those were generally nothing more than a poster or short presentation session. This more demo oriented display and conference was very similar to the science fair that had lost Ford his chance at a scholarship to his dream school. Stan had been so worried he had tried to take time off work to come along on the trip but they were in the middle of a large job and couldn't spare a single man. That was part of why Stan had been so pleased when Ford said Fiddleford would need to come along. Even though Fiddleford had yet to go further than town in his new guise, at least someone would be there to keep an eye on his brother. 

Fiddleford knew he wouldn't get any further with Ford, so instead of arguing he headed outside. There was a small deli across the street from the conference center and he ordered a couple of sandwiches. When he got back to the booth and shoved one into Ford's hands, the other man stared at him in bewilderment. 

"Where did you get this?"

"There's a deli across the street," Fiddleford said between bites.

"But when did you leave?"

Fiddleford rolled his eyes at Ford's obliviousness. "Just eat your sandwich, if you waste away on this trip Stan will have my hide."

They finished their dinners and Ford continued to tinker with their machine, even putting it through a quick test run. The device whirred to life, blue light sparking and shooting as parts rotated. The device could open a small portal to a pocket dimension. The applications were limited by the devices size, but Ford claimed that a larger version would be able to punch a hole in a weak spot between dimensions and make travel between them possible.

Unfortunately, the grant he was currently working on was set to run out and didn't have anything remotely like this in its budget. So they were hoping a live demo would get them the funders they needed to continue the project. 

Fiddleford was still baffled with how Ford had come up with the idea. He had been working towards a unified theory of weirdness for a while now but they had been pretty stumped on a source. Then seemingly out of the blue Ford had drafted an entire blueprint for this portal that he claimed had the answers to everything. Acquiring the skills and materials to construct the machine was proving to be a challenge. But Ford was adamant they keep at it, since Fiddleford had little choice in the matter he followed along finding he enjoyed the new challenges the project presented. It gave him a real chance to stretch his engineering abilities which he didn't often get to do since Ford's worked often focused on the more biologic aspects of his specimens.

Fiddleford let out a gusty sigh for the third time in as many minutes. Now that Ford had tested the machine he was really hoping they could head back up to the hotel room.

Ford shot him a testy glare. "If you're so impatient you can go wait somewhere else. I still have a few things to do and could use some peace and quiet. I swear you're as bad as Stanley sometimes."

"Fine, but if you're not done in another hour I'm going to drag you out of here," Fiddleford said as he got up to wander around the hotel.

Fiddleford eventually made his way to the still open hotel bar. Ford had the keys to the room, and Fiddleford didn't trust himself not to fall asleep and let Ford work all night if he did go back upstairs anyway. The bar gave him a good view of the hall Ford would have to walk through on the way to the elevators from the conference hall and it gave Fiddleford something to do other than watch the other man work. 

Two hours later Fiddleford was well and truly drunk. He had forgotten how much his tolerance had dropped since living with the twins. He was also feeling stressed enough about the project to not care about keeping a close count on his intake. 

"Well hello there," a man said, plopping down on the stool next to Fiddleford. "What's a good looking fellow like you doing drinking all alone?"

The wording rang warning bells in Fiddleford's drunken brain, but he was to far gone to heed them. 

"I'm waitin' on my gosh darn boss to stop fussin' with his project and go ta bed."

The man chuckled at Fiddleford's statement. "Boss, uh? That wouldn't happen to be Stanford Pines would it? I saw the two of you arrive together."

"Yeah that's him. Stupid geniush won't quit while he's a head."

"The names Richard Smythe. You know, Stanford and I actually went to school together, back at Backupsmore. I consider him an old friend, what's he up to these days?"

"You were Ford's school chum? I can't imagine him havin' friends."

"And I can't believe he got an assistant, so what's so special about you anyway?"

Fiddleford blinked warily at the man, feeling himself slowly begin to sober up. Something about the way the man was looking at him was putting him on edge. It reminded him too much of when Ford had someone on the table. That was the kind of look a man gave you when he was peeling you apart. 

"Uh, nothin', I'm nothin' special. Just the poor schmuck he conned into the job."

The man laughed to loudly at this statement. "I'm sure that's not true. You seem like a pretty special guy. What did you say your name was?" the man asked, one hand coming to rest on Fiddleford's knee.

Fiddleford wasn't comfortable with the touch but he was to drunk and to nervous to do anything about it. He still wasn't completely sure who this guy was either. It wouldn't do to upset an actual friend of Ford's or one of the potential investors. He really hoped Ford would be done with the display soon. 

"Uh have you seen the new Pear? Aren't they something? Computers! That's my particular field of interest, I can't wait to see the talk on them tomorrow," Fiddleford said, trying to steer the conversation onto safer topics.

The man seemed disappointed but continued to chat with Fiddleford. Both men attempted to direct the conversation either away from or towards Ford. It led to a stilted discussion, but Smythe didn't seem intent on giving it up. He also became more and more handsy as they talked. The hand on Fiddleford's leg moved steadily upward and his other was now resting companiably on Fiddleford's arm.

"What's going on here?" Ford barked interrupting the two men at the bar. "Smythe, I should have known you would be here."

Ford's tone was dangerously low. It was the one Fiddleford usually associated with a punishment, but despite that he was ridiculously glad to hear it. He practically leapt up to move to Ford's side. But because of Symthe's hands on him his escape didn't go quite as planned and instead caused him to trip into Smythe's lap.

"Easy there buddy, I'm sure your boss doesn't mind us getting to know one another. No need to rush up on his account," Smythe said an arm wrapping securely around Fiddleford, preventing him from squirming away. He grinned lazily at Ford. "Hey there Pines, hows it going? I was telling your assistant here about how well you and I got along in college." 

"We were never friends, Richard. You just pretended to be mine so you could steal my ideas and things," Ford snarled. "I can see some things never change."

"Oh don't be like that Fordsy, we had some good times," Smythe said with a smirk. "And its not like I did anything to your assistant, he came onto me."

Fiddleford opened his mouth to protest the man's lie. But he didn't get the chance. Ford grabbed his arm with a snarl and wrenched him upwards.

"Come on, Fidds. Time to go. We've got to be up early tomorrow for the presentation."

Fiddleford could barely keep up with how quickly Ford marched them to the elevators. Ford kept a hand wrapped tightly around Fiddleford's arm.

"Th-thanks Ford. That guy wouldn't leave me alone, he just showed up and I was too drunk to tell him to leave."

Ford shoved Fiddleford into the empty elevator, smashing the button for their floor.

"And whose fault was that?" he asked threateningly. 

"Wh-what?" Fiddleford stuttered out. Ford was furious at him and Fiddleford had no idea why.

"Don't play innocent. You've been practically begging people to touch you since we got here. And now you're conveniently drunk enough that my college rival is able to chat you up."

"Th-that's exactly what happened. What do you mean I've practically been begging since we got here?"

"I've seen the way you've been flirting with people here. The women at registration, the boy who helped with our bags," Ford said as he backed Fiddleford out of the now open elevator.

"What the hell? I was just being nice to those people, they helped us for god’s sake. I didn't know I wasn't allowed to say thank you." 

Fiddleford was a bit worried now. It seemed like the stress really had gotten to Ford. He just hoped the man wasn't too far gone. If he was, then only Stan could talk him down. And since the younger twin wasn't here, Fiddleford's only hope was that Ford wouldn't kill him outright.

"Thanking them, ha. I didn't know that's what we were calling it these days. Were you trying to get them to let you thank them on your knees," Ford said, backing Fiddleford to the end of the hallway and their door. He fumbled for the key in his pocket. "And then that girl who conveniently recognized you and now Richard Smythe. You let them touch you Fidds. You didn't even know them and they walked right up and touched you."

"I shook their hands Ford. Its considered polite," Fiddleford said watching as Ford circled around him while he stood in the middle of the room. "And your classmate lied, I didn't let him touch me. He just grabbed me like that."

"I don't care what's considered polite, I don't like people touching things that belong to me," Ford said darkly, he stopped his slow circle directly in front of Fiddleford and sat on the end of the bed. "Now strip. He touched those clothes and I don't want you wearing them anymore."

Fiddleford shivered at Ford's tone. He felt little bit ashamed at how turned on he was getting because of Ford's possessiveness. He still feared what Ford might do but he was pretty sure they could resolve this dispute in a mutually pleasurable way. He followed Ford's order quickly. He unbuttoned his shirt, fingers fumbling in their haste. He shucked his shirt and pants off to the side, and stood before Ford in only his boxers. 

It honestly felt good to finally have the stuffy dress clothes off. He had spent long enough living with the brothers only being allowed to wear boxers, that real clothing tended to be tight and itchy by the day's end.

"Keep going, I need to check you for marks," Ford growled.

Fiddleford blushed, but followed the order anyway. Removing his boxers revealed his half hard erection. He was embarrassed how excited he was by the whole situation, when he should probably be scared for his life. But again living with the brothers for so long had rewired many of his reactions. 

Ford looked him over. "Come here," he demanded. He spread his legs to give Fiddleford room to stand between them. Fiddleford shuffled forward. 

Ford grabbed Fiddleford's cock, squeezing it just tight enough to be painful.

"Is this because of Smythe?" Ford asked threateningly. 

"N-no, Ford. Never," Fiddleford gasped, trying hard not to move despite his bodies desire to get away from the pain. "Only for you. And Stan."

"Good," Ford said, gentling his grip and stroking Fiddleford's length a couple of times. He manhandled Fiddleford to inspect every portion of him up close. "Show me where he touched you."

Fiddleford point a shaky hand at his right leg. "He grabbed my knee, and then kept moving it further and further up. I didn't know how to tell him to stop."

"Next time someone touches you and you don't like it. Get away from them. Remember you belong to me and I don't like my things being touched. Doesn't matter if you're worried about upsetting them, you should be more worried about upsetting me. Understand?" Ford said, his hands tugging Fiddleford so the taller man couldn't look away. Ford waited until Fiddleford nodded in agreement. "Good. Hell, tell them exactly what I did to that guy in the grocery store that got handsy with Stan."

Fiddleford shivered at the memory. He had honestly been amazed at how many creative ways Ford could peel apart someone's hands and how long he could keep them alive while he did it. 

When he nodded again, Ford hummed before leaning down and biting Fiddleford's right thigh hard. 

Fiddleford let out a muffled yelp, one hand coming up to stifle the noise. The last thing they needed was to be reported to the front desk by a concerned neighbor.

Ford had bit hard enough to draw blood and he lapped at the wound. Fiddleford let out a low moan at the sight, hand still covering his mouth to muffle it. Ford looked up at him and gave him a wicked grin.

"Now where else did he touch you?"

Fiddleford shook his head once at the question. He didn't want Ford to bite him again, no matter how much it had turned him on. They had to be at the conference all weekend and he didn't want anymore mysterious wounds to explain. 

"Come on Fidds, this is for your own good," Ford said, one hand wrapping around Fiddleford's leg. His thumb tapped gently on the fresh bite mark. "You have to be reminded not to go throwing yourself at anything that moves somehow."

He carefully increased the pressure on the skin around the wound, occasionally licking at the blood that oozed out. He even suckled fresh bruises around it, finally earning him a whimper. Fiddleford pointed at his upper arm, studiously keeping his eyes off Ford.

Ford grinned pulling Fiddleford into his lap. The taller man settled down willingly, shifting only enough to get comfortable. Ford inspected the appendage in question carefully. His lips turned to a frown as he noticed the red impression on Fiddleford's arm. He could just make out the five fingers of his rival's hand.

With a low growl he wrapped his own hand around the mark and squeezed. His intent was to replace the faint trace with his own distinct hand print. Fiddleford buried his head in Ford's shoulder this time. The crushing grip left him whimpering and tearful. The tiny sobs and gasps in Ford's ear made him practically purr with pleasure.

He released Fiddleford's arm and gently pulled Fiddleford's head off his shoulder so he could look the other man in the eyes. 

"That should make you think twice before letting anyone else touch you," Ford said. With one hand he reached up and wiped the tears off Fiddleford's face with his thumb. He brought it to his own lips and licked the salty taste off.

Fiddleford watched him, sniffling slightly and nodding his understanding.

"I'm so sorry, Ford. It won't happen again," he promised.

"I know you are Fidds," Ford said, already much calmer. He ran his fingers over the substantial hickies Stan had left around Fiddleford's neck before they had gone to the conference. "Can you think of any way of making it up to me?"

"Yo-you could fuck me," Fiddleford suggested still feeling quite aroused from his punishment. He wiggled his hips, grinding his ass against Ford's clothed crotch. 

"Hmm I'm not so sure about that. Isn't that what you've been after all day. I don't see how giving you what you want teaches you to be any less of a slut." 

"But I wouldn't have to go throwing myself at all those other people if you would just take care of me yourself," Fiddleford said with a pout. He fumbled with the buttons on Ford's shirt. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he couldn't deny how arousing Ford's possessiveness had been. Now that Ford considered the transgression paid for there shouldn't be too much danger in playing a little game with him.

Ford growled slightly, despite realizing Fiddleford was trying to rile him up, he still felt anger flicker in his gut at the thought of anyone touching what he considered to be his property. He and his brother had broken Fiddleford down and molded him into what he was now. No one else got to reap the benefits of that. 

He stood suddenly, his grip on Fiddleford the only thing preventing the other man from tumbling to the ground. He practically tossed his assistant on the bed, stripping as quickly as possible. 

Fiddleford watched Ford with a dazed expression, slightly unsure what he had gotten himself into. 

"A slut like you is probably loose enough not to need any lube, but I would hate to tear something," Ford growled as he fought his shirt.

Fiddleford took the hint and fumbled for the bottle of lube on the bedside table. He got to work prepping himself hoping Ford wouldn't go too hard on him.

Ford watched as the other man worked to prepare himself. Divesting himself of pants and underwear much faster than the shirt, he stroked his own erection languidly, while Fiddleford scissored himself open. 

"Is that all you can take? I would expect more from the likes of you," he said knowing it was too quick for Fiddleford to take three fingers but not caring all that much.

Fiddleford shivered at Ford's tone and the implied order. He pressed three fingers against his fluttering hole, before easing them in. He moaned at the slight burn of the stretch, the sensation going straight to his dick. With a bit more lube it wasn't long before he was working himself on four of his fingers.

Ford gave a sharp tug on Fiddleford's wrist. He pushed it over Fiddleford's head catching the other one along the way.

"Keep those up there. I don’t want you touching me with either of your filthy mitts after you've touched so many other people today."

Fiddleford moaned at the order, while Ford settled onto the bed. He carefully lifted Fiddleford's legs so they were hooked over his shoulders. He traced his fingers over the various marks he had left on Fiddleford’s thighs.

"Even if you did convince someone else to do this for you. They would never touch you once they saw these," he said gloatingly as he ran his fingers over the scars he had left on the other man. Ford pressed slightly on the fresh bite mark. "Anyone can see you already belong to someone."

He lined the head of his cock up with Fiddleford's hole and slowly sank into the other man. Fiddleford whined at the stretch. Ford gave a couple of shallow thrusts while Fiddleford got used to the sensation.

"Isn't that right Fidds? Don't you already belong to someone?"

Fiddleford stared at Ford confusedly. His face was coated in a slight sheen of sweat, and he couldn't even get the question he wanted to ask out since Ford continued to rock into him.

"Tell me who you belong to Fidds," Ford asked again his tone growing impatient. 

"Yo-you Ford, I belong to you."

The end of Fiddleford's answer was lost in a scream as Ford drew back and thrust into him forcefully. He hit Fiddleford's prostate straight on causing the other man to see stars.

Fiddleford brought one hand down to cover his mouth again. He was still afraid of alerting the neighbors to what they were up to. Ford pulled his hand away and pushed it back above his head, forcing it to join his other hand where it still clutched at the head board. 

"Not yet, Fidds. That was good, but not quite right. You can do better than that, I know you can," Ford said continuing his slow thrusts into the man below him. "I need to be able to hear you when you tell me who you belong to."

Fiddleford was again confused, trying his hardest to guess what Ford wanted despite the pleasure coming from his body.

"Tick-tock," Ford said while he leaned down and grazed his teeth against Fiddleford's nipple. The feeling from his chest almost made Fiddleford miss the gentle tap against his hickies.

"Stan," he gasped out. "I belong to you and Stan."

"Good boy," Ford said with a pleased grin. He picked up his pace again, thrusting forcefully in and out of Fiddleford, while pumping the other man’s cock with one hand. This time he let Fiddleford cover his mouth to muffle his sounds. "That's right, Stan and I made you. We made you what you are. So you belong to us. You are ours. No one else's."

His words broke down into sharp gasps and with his last words he came with a shudder inside Fiddleford. Fiddleford followed quickly after, with a muffled shout. Shooting cum onto Ford's hand and his own stomach.

Ford slumped next to Fiddleford, taking a couple of moments to catch his breath. He levered himself off the bed and ambled over to the bathroom. Grabbing a few things, he returned to clean them both up.

"You should really remember the lesson now," he mused as he bundled Fiddleford up and pulled him close against his side.

Fiddleford could only mumble sleepily, burrowing into Ford's comforting warmth.

"Maybe I'll see if Stan packed a plug. No way you could forget who you belong to tomorrow if I have you wear that." Ford said pulling the blanket over them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look that piece I wrote a million years ago and finally finished editing. If it seems like this piece hints at a portal and a certain triangle you wouldn't be wrong. I've got something of an outline for a sequel and I'm looking forward to writing it when the summer rolls around and I have some more time.  
> In time consuming related news, I just finished up my final manuscript for my thesis, which I'll be defending in a couple of weeks. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to say that writing that has been taking up a lot of my time and motivation right now so I am very glad to have it done and will be even happier when this quarter is over.


End file.
